


the art of saving.

by chai_and_coffee



Series: the tumblr alchemist [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Chance Meetings, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Meet-Cute, One-Shot, Romance, Royai - Freeform, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tumblr Prompt, based on another fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-27 03:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21111917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chai_and_coffee/pseuds/chai_and_coffee
Summary: Stupid, stupid, stupid.She can see it now, the way she had swapped purses earlier that morning in her rush to get to work, and had left her pepper spray tucked within the black leather confines. Her gun, tucked safely under a pillow, sleeps peacefully while her master realizes that it’s sorely needed.She’s coming back after a long night of clubbing, the loud music still ringing in her ears, and her calves are burning and ready to give out anytime soon. She doesn’t have any weapons on her, (well, only one if you count herself). Besides, she’s wearing a slinky navy blue dress that only reaches to her mid-thigh. The sparkles that catch the light do nothing: sequins are pretty useless as a weapon. She’s wearing flats, so that’s a dead end.When she left, she had checked over her shoulder to make sure no one was following her. But she must have drank more than she thought, considering that sometime around the third street, she had picked up a little group following her.(Or how Roy saves Riza and Riza saves Roy simultaneously)Based on a prompt "Hi! Please don't feel obliged to do this but... would you consider writing a Roy / Riza fic, please? Thanks!" from distinguishedstudentcat on tumblr!





	the art of saving.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Needing to kiss to hide from bad guys](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16701436) by [chikraizyj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chikraizyj/pseuds/chikraizyj). 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

She can see it now, the way she had swapped purses earlier that morning in her rush to get to work, and had left her pepper spray tucked within the black leather confines. Her gun, tucked safely under a pillow, sleeps peacefully while her master realizes that it’s sorely needed. 

She’s coming back after a long night of clubbing, the loud music still ringing in her ears, and her calves are burning and ready to give out anytime soon. She doesn’t have any weapons on her, (well, only one if you count herself). Besides, she’s wearing a slinky navy blue dress that only reaches to her mid-thigh. The sparkles that catch the light do nothing: sequins are pretty useless as a weapon. She’s wearing flats, so that’s a dead end.

When she left, she had checked over her shoulder to make sure no one was following her. But she must have drank more than she thought, considering that sometime around the third street, she had picked up a little group following her. 

“Hey, baby! Hey, come here, let’s show you a good time!” One shouts, voice lazy with the alcohol coursing his system. 

They’re drunk, and it’s painfully obvious. She can practically smell the alcohol radiating off of them, which is absolutely ridiculous, considering they’re a considerable distance away. But now is not the time for her to delve into a greater understanding of the human mind. 

She picks up her pace, hoping that her calves don’t give out. All the while, she pats her person, cursing herself for the eighteenth time for not having a weapon on her, or not accepting Havoc’s offer to drive her home. 

They’re gaining on her, she can hear the way their footsteps are getting louder and more frenzied, and she’s overcome with such fear that she breaks out into a run. Almost there, one more turn, and oh! 

She sees a man standing at the corner of street where her apartment is located, right under the streetlight. She can see the way the light gently filters down around him, the way he’s distracted by the bright lights of his phone. A hand rests in his pocket, and he’s leaning back slightly, casual. 

She hopes that he won’t get too upset. 

Riza barely manages to suppress a shudder. “Baby!” She calls out, racing down the sidewalk. She can hear her pursuers’ footsteps reach a crescendo and—

She throws herself forward, arms looping around the man’s neck. “I was looking for you!” She calls out, and in a fluid motion, pushes herself so her lips meld with his. 

He’s strong and steady, and his arms wrap around her to support her. He kisses her back with ease, his lips warm against hers. He’s practically cradling her, but while her eyes close, his are wide open and alert. 

He breaks the kiss only a few moments later, leaning back and looking at her with an amused smile splayed over the lips she had just kissed. “They’re gone, ma’am.” He says, and turns serious. “Are you okay?”

She’s a bit dazed, but manages to respond with a nod. She’s still clutching onto him, grabbing fistfuls of his jacket, but she’s okay. She’s okay, she’s okay. She shouldn’t think about how close that was, how close they were. 

“Hey,” He murmurs, and her startled tawny eyes connect with his dark orbs. “You’re okay. You picked the right person.” He hums, gesturing down to his shirt. 

The navy blue cloth that she’s gripping is not that of a normal person, it’s the polyester blend of a uniform. A better glance confirms her suspicions, that the man she’s holding onto is a police officer. 

Colonel Roy A. Mustang, she reads. Not a police officer, but a military man. He’s right. She chose the right person. 

“Thank you, Mr. Mustang.” She sighs, and almost as though it’s an afterthought, she lets go of him. She’s tempted to go limp in shock, but the gentle reminder of his hands on her waist keeps her from slumping over like a wet noodle. 

“Anytime.” He hums, and gives her a once-over, looking for any injuries. “Are you sure you’re alright? Do you need me to call someone? Take you to the hospital?” 

She shakes her head. She wasn’t in any mood to get chewed out by Becca and Havoc about her carelessness, and she didn’t have any injuries aside from the blisters on her feet. “I should just go home.”

“Would you like me to walk you?” Mustang asks, concern filling his eyes once again. 

Riza’s too rattled to respond in the negative. “That’d be nice, Mister Mustang, if you aren’t doing anything.” 

He laughs, gently relinquishing his hands on her waist to gently take her hand and put it on his extended forearm. It’s strategic, allowing her to hold onto him, but directed in a way for him to be unable to grope or mishandle her. She read about it, that a man’s ability to differentiate between different types of helping a woman is quite instinctual. She’s able to hold onto him, but also hit him in the event that she needs to. 

“Just Roy, please. Besides, I don’t have plans at two in the morning. Also, you kind of have to tell me where your place is.” He says, his tone clearly amused. 

She begins to walk, her feet groaning in a chorus of complaints, and the heady rush that the alcohol had given her wears away, leaving nothing but a droning buzz. “I have a gun.” She hears herself say, her tongue too loose. “And pepper spray. Not on me, but at home. So, don’t try anything.” 

His response is one that brings her satisfaction. “Oh, I’m well aware that you’re able to make me eat pavement. Did you see the way you grabbed me? For a second, I thought you were going to judo flip me. Trust me, ma’am, I’m just a mere escort home. Besides, you’re the one saving me.” His tone is light, but she hears an undercurrent of sincerity. 

“Saving you from what?” She asks, making the familiar turn onto her street. 

“My sisters,” He answers, with just the right mix of exasperation and fondness. “They’re back to prying into my business like usual—watch your step, ma’am.” 

“Sisters?” 

“Seven of them, actually. All of them with very different personalities, but all having the same penchant of sticking their noses where it doesn’t belong.” His voice is soothing, and it makes her want to curl up next to him and just fall asleep. It’s the perfect melody, a low timbre that carries just the right amount of softness. Apparently she manifests her desire as best as she can, because she leans into the warmth of his coat, just as he leads her up the stairs. He’s patient to be a leaning post as she manages to slide the key in the slot and push her creaky door open. 

She hovers in the doorway, a bit uncertain between the call of her bed and the man standing just outside. 

“Go get some rest, ma’am.” He murmurs. 

“You’re not coming in?” She’s swaying on her feet, hanging off the door. The only stable thing she’s hanging onto is the golden doorknob of her oak wood. 

“Don’t want to get my ass kicked, remember?” He jokes, his smile reassuring, “Good night and sleep well, ma’am.” 

“Good night, Roy.” She hums, and the gentle click of the door being closed is last thing she hears before she stumbles to her bedroom and curls up under the sheets. 

The last thought that results in her mind is that she never gave the lovely officer her name. 

-

“Did you get home alright?” Rebecca asks a few days later, the two best friends meeting for their weekly brunch. 

Riza glances up from where she had been scanning the menu, and pauses at the question. Did she—?

“Somewhat.” Riza answers, thinking that it would be enough, but she should have known better. At the single word answer, Rebecca’s eyebrow quirks upwards, and the dark-haired girl gives her best friend the same fill it and spill it look. 

“So, you were piss drunk,” Riza begins, rolling her eyes at her friend. 

“Correct, but we already knew that.” Rebecca says, unfazed, waving a hand in front of her as if to keep Riza on the same track. 

“So Havoc took you home—which you totally owe him for, you definitely put your boyfriend through hell, and I was walking home.” Riza says, and raises a hand to stop Rebecca from cutting in. “It was just a few blocks and I really didn’t want to be in the car with you, especially when you were that drunk.” 

“Valid, so accepted for now. Continue.” Rebecca says, but before Riza can begin her tale once more, the waiter arrives to take their orders.

Rebecca isn’t one to let a simple distraction interfere in her getting a good story, moments after the waiter steps away, she fixes Riza with another look, prompting the blonde to hastily continue. “_Anyways_, I’m walking to my place, probably three streets away, and I hear a lot of riffraff behind me. Apparently it’s riffraff towards me, I attracted a group of drunkards. Now, they weren’t so drunk as in couldn’t walk on their two feet, but they were drunk enough to say very creative things about my dress and places that it should be.” Riza sighs.

“Idiots. So what’d you do? Bust out a few karate moves?” Rebecca asks.

Riza scoffs, shaking her head. “As if. I had three-fourths the amount that you drank, remember? Besides, I didn’t even have pepper spray or even a suitable weapon.”

All traces of teasing are gone from Rebecca’s face. “Riza, what the hell did you do? What happened?” She asks, leaning forward. Her expression is contorted into one of serious concern. 

“Relax, Mother Goose, I’m getting to that part. So I start to run, because I don’t want to be around those creeps—and they follow me too. So I see this guy on the street corner, and he looked to be a pretty decent guy, so I called out to him like I knew him and kissed him.” 

Rebecca takes a sip of her water just at that moment and theatrically chokes, slightly sputtering. “You—_what_?!”

“Easy there. I kissed him—I don’t know why, I think I was just fighting to save myself.” Riza admonishes, handing her friend a napkin. 

Rebecca takes it and dabs at her lips with a corner, her eyes glazed with thought. “What did he look like?!”

“Tall, very cute. Dark hair, dark eyes. Fair features. He’s actually a military man.”

“Did he kiss back?”

“Yeah, he did.”

“Was it good? Did he slip in his tongue? Where were his hands?!” 

“Rebecca! It wasn’t a romantic kiss of sorts. I just kissed him and he must have been pretty surprised because he kissed me back, and then we broke apart and he said that they were gone, and offered to walk me home and that’s it. He walked me home, said goodnight, and we parted ways.” Riza says exasperatedly. 

Rebecca is quiet for a moment, thinking, and Riza almost wonders if she made her friend’s mind explode with this new information. She speaks after a few minutes, a smirk quickly appearing on her face. 

“So, basically, you used this hot man for his lips and for his company and went home a satisfied woman? You sly dog.”

“Wow, when you put it like that, I really did use that cute military man for his lips, huh?” Riza groans, her head slumping to hit the table in disappointment. 

“So Riza, this man had dark hair, right?”

“Dark as night.” A forlorn Riza agrees. 

“And dark eyes.”

“Salamander-like.”

“And his name wouldn’t happen to be Mustang, would it?” 

“It was, actually. Colonel Roy Mustang.” Riza recounts, her face gaining a thoughtful expression. “How did you know that?”

“Because I’m looking at him. Your salamander man is a few tables down.” Rebecca remarks, a knowing grin spreading across her face. “Now, before you blow a fuse, I’ll do you one better. That man is Jean’s boss, and I met him for one of the holiday parties that he hosted.” 

Riza pushes her head up from the table, eyes widening. “You mean Mister Manwhore?! You mean to tell me my Mustang is that Mustang?!” She hisses. 

Rebecca isn’t one to let go of odd phrasing, almost immediately her grin doubles. “Your Mustang, huh?”

Before Rebecca could respond, a voice cuts in, the same deep and melodious one that she had taken a liking to a few days ago. Colonel Roy A. Mustang stands by their table, looking like a five-course meal with his tight jeans and gray shirt, hair artfully tousled. Riza realizes a bit too late that he has said something, and she looks a bit like a deer caught in the headlights, her amber eyes never leaving his form. 

“Hey, Mustang.” Rebecca says cheerily, and Riza conjectures that he must have greeted her. “This is my friend Riza.”

“We’ve met.” Mustang says smoothly, turning his smile to her, and for a second, Riza forgets how to breathe. “So, ma’am, have any kisses of note since we’ve last met?”

Oh god. She knows that she shouldn’t give him the satisfaction, but her cheeks warm with a dust of pink as she struggles to put words together. “Not quite, only one man.” 

He looks satisfied with her answer—she hadn’t been aware that there was a right or wrong way to answer that question. 

“Excellent. I’d hate to share you, y’know. It’s not every day a drunk woman threatens to maim you with her pinky finger.” He’s teasing, his possessive comment quickly masked with a gentle jibe about her behavior the night before. 

The heat of chagrin sweeps over her and she curses her drunk self for making such a comment—and even more for not even remembering it. 

She barely composes herself enough to make a snarky comment of her own. “It seems as though I share you, Colonel Mustang. Your reputation with partners precedes you.” She shoots back. 

“Ah, that’s just our origin story. You know, where one of the partners can’t seem to hold onto one person, and the other person is very serious about a relationship. Come on, ma’am, it’s the oldest romance trope.” He deflects her comment easily, neatly hooking his foot around the legs of a chair and pulling it towards him, sinking down and adding himself to their little brunch without even asking. 

“Wouldn’t have pegged you for a romance novel reader, Colonel Mustang.”

“I’m not, actually. I saw the title of one of the books you were reading, you left it on the table by your door. I do think that all the protagonists of those books would be quite upset at me if they realized that I had allowed a beautiful woman get away from me with me not even knowing her name.”

“Riza Hawkeye. I’m sure that’s due to your laziness, Colonel. After all, I’m sure that your numerous romantic interests practically throw their names at you.” She answers. She’s quite sure that she’s being unnecessarily harsh to him, but she can’t begin to express her disappointment from finding out that the same man who came to her aid yesterday was the same man that Havoc deemed was the Slut of the Office.

“It seems that you have a preconceived notion of me, Miss Hawkeye. Would you allow me to invite you to dinner tomorrow night at seven so you might see differently? I promise to allow you to use your pepper spray if I say anything that’s too unbecoming.” He says with the airs of an educated gentlemen. 

Riza opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. She’s partly sure that his earlier charade was simply an attempt to mock her, but now he’s inviting her to dinner—?

“She accepts. She’ll see you tomorrow. You know where to pick her up, Mustang.” Rebecca cuts in, saving her from the embarrassment of not being able to string a few words together. 

—

He’s nothing like Havoc described him. 

He’s there at seven sharp, handing a bouquet of hyacinths over with a glimmer in his eye, allowing his eyes to sweep down her figure in a respectful admiration. There is nothing fake about the way he compliments her appearance, playfully flicks the pearl earring she’s wearing to make her giggle, or the way he bends down and lavishes Hayate with attention for a solid five minutes. 

Dinner is simple and sufficient—he handles her with expert care and grace. He’s careful not to overstep his boundaries, but there isn’t a moment of awkwardness either. She goes from calling him “Colonel” to “Mustang” and eventually, by the end of the night, “Roy”. 

They walk, hand-in-hand, down the street that she had been running down a few nights before. The stark feeling of danger that she had been feeling before is replaced with security, something that has to do with the way his hand rests on the small of her back, or the fact that he grins wolfishly at her when he feels the ridges of the gun strapped to her thigh when they’re sitting at the bakery. 

They order three pastries, one delicate and chocolatey that isn’t much of her taste (he finishes it in two bites), a strawberry filled one that they share, and a powdered sugar one that he grimaces at and pushes over to her. 

They’re back outside, right outside her apartment complex, and his thumb is on her lips, stroking away the powdered sugar. 

“I’m not one of your conquests.” She reminds him. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it. You’d suplex my ass with some judo moves.” 

“I don’t need saving.”

“I didn’t save you, remember? You saved me.”

“Shut up and kiss me, Colonel.”

And the soft “Yes ma’am” that she hears from him before his lips are on hers makes her a little weak, but she finds that she doesn’t mind it at all. 

**Author's Note:**

> hello, hello! i'm writing the asks in my inbox, i promise. i'm getting to them. 
> 
> i hope you enjoyed this! drop a kudos if you enjoyed!
> 
> comments give me life and inspire me to write more!
> 
> and as always: follow me on tumblr @chai-and-coffee


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